


The Perfect Pair (or Crime-Fighting Duo of Love-Making)

by NobleZeda



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But not a bunch, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fake Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Out, Sharing a Bed, Stiles is a total BAMF, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:56:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobleZeda/pseuds/NobleZeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Danny is hospitalized, the pack looks into a string of attacks at a nearby gay resort. Derek and Stiles (begrudgingly) go undercover, and Stiles is a lot better at acting in love (and lots of other things) than Derek thought he would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perfect Pair (or Crime-Fighting Duo of Love-Making)

**Author's Note:**

> Because we can never have too many fake relationship tropes.

Scott leads the pack meeting that day, and Stiles holds in a snort, because he  _actually_  pulled out the blackboard. Stiles had bought it at a yard sale for two dollars, the cheap price due to a large and noticeable scratch down the front of it, and since then insisted at every pack meeting that they should use it, just to be a pain in the ass. He had even gone so far as to steal chalk from the school, having been too lazy to buy it for himself. But now Scott has it out, and Stiles has a shit-eating grin, and he doesn't even know why.

"Okay, Stiles, you're the one who went to see Danny at the hospital," Scott begins. The chalkboard is empty now, except for a small drawing in the bottom left corner that may or may be a penis that Stiles may or may not have put there. "What did he say?"

Stiles sighs, only because he didn't want to tell this story the first time, and this is now the eighth time, if he hasn't miscounted. "His parents went to Norway for a week. He saved up some money and took his boyfriend to this fancy resort thing - it's like The Jungle, but a hotel basically. I think the same guy owns it. Anyway, he has a huge lapse of memory, wakes up in the hospital three days later," Stiles says.

"You're leaving out something you told me," Scott hints, writing down Stiles's key points. 

"Then you say it," Stiles says, and if he's not hearing things, Derek huffs out a laugh. Stiles smiles with pride.

Scott sighs through his nose. "Danny was in a coma," he says to the people who don't know, which is nobody. Allison, Isaac, Derek, Lydia, Stiles, and Scott are the ones in attendance of this meeting. They've all known about this since Danny was hospitalized four days ago. "Before he went into his coma, he was in shock."

"Isn't it possible someone just slipped something into his drink?" Lydia asks, leaning back into the couch that is considerably new to Derek's loft. She tilts her head in a very assertive way, and Stiles tries to remind himself that he's over her. 

"This is Beacon Hills, Lydia. Besides, who would drug Danny?" Isaac asks. "He'll have sex with anything that moves. All anyone would have to do is say 'please.'" Stiles tries to think Isaac isn't speaking from experience. At least Danny values consent.

"Okay, can we just skip all of this?" asks Allison, ever the direct. "Something is out there attacking people - what are we going to do about it?" Stiles sees Scott looking like he's attempting to hide a boner. He sees why they're best friends now.

Scott looks like the subject is about to get awkward. "Okay..." he begins, and Stiles already feels the need to bang his head off a wall. He has an awful premonition that this is going to involve him getting humiliated multiple times on multiple, intense levels.

"Well, the way that we can protect the most people is to go in undercover," Scott says. "It's a same sex resort, and seeing as none of us are actually gay, that means we're going to have to pretend. I talked to - uh, Allison backs me up on this. We think that the best people would be Stiles, because he knows the most about the case, and, the strongest wolf. Derek." Scott looks like he's ready to melt into a huge puddle.

Derek is the first to complain, which doesn't surprise Stiles at all. He stands up and shouts, and it takes Scott's eyes flashing red to calm him down. Stiles keeps his head down and doesn't move, but he can feel Derek's glare on him.

"Besides, I've got a chemistry test and two English essays to make up," Isaac says, like there's nothing he can do about it. Stiles can tell he's trying not to snicker.

"And Lydia and I don't have supernatural powers to help us out," Allison chimes in. She, too, seems to be holding back a grin, and Stiles wonders what the hell is the matter with these people.

"Stiles and I have been best friends since first grade," Scott says. "It would be too weird for us to pretend to be dating. We could never pull it off."

Derek glares around the room.

"Unless you want people to keep getting hurt and hunters to get involved. Although, I don't think they'll have our discretion," Isaac says, shrugging. Derek growls low in his throat and continues glaring at Stiles. Stiles swallows.

 

~~~

 

" _Hey boyfriend_ !" Stiles shouts much too loudly an hour later. Since the meeting has ended, he has driven home, packed a week's worth of clothes (he's a  _what-if_ person, a trait that can be attributed to needing so many back up plans when his life became so entangled in his group of friends turning slightly homicidal once a month), told his Dad he was spending the weekend at Scott's (because even if he is getting adjusted to allowing the supernatural into his world, there was no way he would let his closeted bisexual son into a gay hotel with a hot werewolf), and driven back to Derek's loft. Derek is currently acting as though every move he makes to pack his bag physically hurts him. "Well, that's no way to convince anyone we're a couple," Stiles notes.

It's no surprise when Derek doesn't respond.

In fact, Derek - Stiles has noticed - blatantly refuses to so much as acknowledge Stiles's existence. They take the same car - Stiles insists it's more coupley, and knows that he's not-so-secretly in charge of the operation - but Derek barely waits for Stiles to shut his door before he's driving.

"I think you should make your feelings more apparent," Stiles says, just to be sarcastic, but then he realizes that he's actually a little angry. "Grow the hell up. You're acting like I'm forcing you into marriage. What are you so obsessed with that this is a huge problem? Suck it up. We're saving lives here,  _Derbear._ " He adds the last bit partly out of spite, but also because he can.

Derek grits his teeth. "No kissing," is all he responds with. Stiles rolls his eyes. It's been a while since Derek's broodiness did anything more than mildly intimidate him, and Stiles likes to believe he can talk sense into Derek as well.

For the rest of the twenty minute car ride, only one person in the car speaks, and Derek's fingers tighten on the wheel in agitation with every word.

 

~~~

 

They receive an incredibly warm welcome - someone is on the ground of the lobby, convulsing. Stiles immediately drops his bags and runs to the crowd surrounding the man, shoving through them when he realizes they're doing only that - crowding. No one is actually helping the guy. He drops to his knees and attempts to utilize what minimal medical knowledge he has. Everyone seems thrown off by the fact that Stiles has dared to be a useful human.

Not even Derek moves as quickly as Stiles. He's still dropping the bags and running over, but he clearly doesn't know how to help. Stiles takes control.

"Get down here!" he shouts at Derek, then picks someone at random in the crowd - a blonde woman hysterically clutching her girlfriend - and orders firmly, "Call 911!"

Derek hasn't moved, so Stiles fixes him with an authoritative stare, trying to hide the panic he feels from the situation, and shouts, " _Derek_!"

This seems to jog him, and Derek silently but quickly appears at Stiles's side. "He hit his head when he fell down," Stiles says at first. "I think he's going into shock. If you lift his legs up about a foot off the ground, it should  _take his pain away_." Stiles emphasizes the coded order.

Derek nods understandingly and takes the man from under the ankles, lifts them into the air roughly a foot. Only a single grunt from Derek reveals what he's really doing, and Stiles is very thankful that Derek is wearing his leather jacket to cover his arms, which are undoubtedly covered in black strings of veins right now.

"Careful not to move his head," Stiles reminds Derek, checking the guy's pulse for the third time. He's too busy asking the man his name and trying to keep him happily distracted to notice the way Derek is looking at him.

 

~~~

 

The police arrive minutes later. The first thing Stiles does when he stands up is lean heavily into Derek's chest and sigh. Derek can feel the distress radiating off of him. " _Act cool_ ," Stiles whispers. "Somebody's bound to be watching. Very likely our guy is one of them." Stiles thanks werewolf hearing, because he doesn't feel like he could have spoken very loudly, even if he were worried about being overheard.

Derek's arms don't wrap as warmly as they could have. Although, unless the time where Stiles kept Derek from drowning in the pool counts, this is the first time they have ever hugged. Stiles burrows into Derek as far as he can go, wrapping his arms around Derek's waist until his hand goes under Derek's jacket, because Derek thinks it's an act and Stiles actually needs the comfort. Derek doesn't make a sound.

Someone ruins Stiles's beautiful moment by clearing her throat, and Stiles want to growl. He's definitely been hanging around wolves for too long.

"I'd like to thank you on behalf of  _Lumiere d'Armour_ ," she says. "I'm the manager, Lisa Kelly."

Stiles has never trusted people with two first names, but he knows that he has to turn on what little charm he has to make up for Derek's appalling social skills, so he smiles brightly. "I'm Stiles. This is my boyfriend, Derek."

"Hale?" Lisa asks. "Your reservation is logged. I looked you up after the ambulance took away poor Mr. Lukan."

Derek surprises even Stiles by smiling. "I'm just glad we could help," he says, and Stiles feels an arm wrap around his waist. He tries to act like it's not the weirdest thing ever, because Derek is totally hot, so he'll definitely take it.

Lisa smiles right back, and Stiles can tell by the way she does that staff are definitely not required to be strictly homosexual. He surprises himself by feeling a spark of jealousy light inside of him. Derek is  _his_  fake-boyfriend, after all. That fake-boyfriend-stealing bitch. "Can we offer you a free bottle of wine, courtesy of the staff?" Lisa asks.

"That would be awesome!" Stiles chimes in, partially to stop Derek from saying no, but mostly because he wants to remind Lisa he's there. Lisa's smile toward Stiles turns more polite than friendly. Stiles stops smiling entirely, and starts to stare her down like the bug she is. It probably looks extremely creepy.

"Lovely," Lisa says tightly. "If we can just officially taking care of the checking in, I'll let Rose show you to your room." Derek's hand on Stiles feels very stiff. It's difficult to walk with, but he tries to make it look as natural as he can.

" _Look happy_ ," he breathes. " _We're a popular topic of conversation right now. Everybody's looking at us, which means our Frankenstein definitely is_."

Derek leans down and whispers, "Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster." It shouldn't be as sexy as it is, but Stiles finds himself shivering. Then Derek's nose touches Stiles's cheeks, and it could totally  _look_  like  __Stiles_  is being kissed by Derek Hale _, so he tries to make his expression one of pleasant familiarity rather than its current oh-my-fucking-god eyes and mouth.

 

~~~

 

There's only one bed.

Of course there's only one bed. It's a hotel for gays and lesbians. They don't generally check in because they're staying in town for the night. "I'll take the floor," Derek says immediately.

Stiles groans and rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot," he says. "How do we know this thing won't sneak in and attack at night? We have to look very gay and in love so we become the next target. You can surely manage to stay on __one_  side _ of a queen sized bed, can't you? It's not like I'm going to use you as a giant werewolf-  _fuck,"_  Stiles hisses out, then drops to his knees and digs his eyes into his palms because he actually can not believe that out of himself and Derek,  _he's_  the stupid one.  _"Fuck,"_  he repeats for good measure. "I forgot my pillow."

"There are plenty of pillows, Stiles," Derek says, as if this matter is a trivial one, when really, it's the exact opposite.

"Yeah, but they're not  _my_  pillow," Stiles says, prying his eyes away but remaining on the floor. "I can  _never_  sleep without my pillow.  _Fuck."_

"It's not the end of the-"

"Do you want to hear me awake all night?" Stiles asks, standing up and accusing Derek, even though it obviously isn't Derek's fault. "If I don't have my pillow, neither of us sleeps this entire fucking-"

There's a knock on the door, and Stiles crosses the room and attaches his hip to Derek's, then pulls Derek to the door. Derek reaches for the doorknob, but Stiles swats his hand away. He reaches up and messes up his own hair, ruffles his shirt and takes his left arm out of his plaid, then gives an obnoxiously loud giggle. He opens the door, then leaves Derek to take control as he puts his arm back into his shirt. He looks up in time to see a bellhop's eyes darting away from him and offering Derek a fancy bottle of red wine. Derek takes it graciously and gives the guy a dollar.

"God, where would you be without me?" Stiles asks, rolling his eyes and walking away again to ransack his bags as many times as he has to before his pillow magically appears there.

 

~~~

 

"We can't stay in the room all day," Stiles says, emerging from the bathroom. "Do I have to explain everything to you? We need to be in such incredibly sweet gay love that it gives every last citizen a cavity, our marriage is immediately legalized worldwide, and we get hunted by whatever thing here that you need to rip to shreds."

Derek rolls his eyes. "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

"We're going to go downstairs and socialize. You know, be normal human beings," Stiles says, taking none of Derek's shit. "Now go put your bathing suit on."

Derek sits up in alarm. He stares at Stiles. "I don't own a bathing suit," he says.

"You do now," Stiles says, as if Derek's input is insignificant, which it totally is. He walks over to his bag and pulls out a bright red speedo. The looks of panic and disgust that crosses Derek's face is unarguably worth the extra money it cost Stiles to buy it. He snorts and grins as he throws it at Derek's head (Derek catches it and stares at it), then turns back to the bag and pulls out a pair of regular blue swim trunks. Derek looks ready to kill. This time the trunks hit Derek right in the face.

Ten minutes later, Stiles is making himself at home in the Jacuzzi on the ground floor, relaxing his every muscle into it with noises so obscene they make Derek's ears go as red as the speedo sitting abandoned on their bed upstairs. Derek is much more hesitant about getting in, but Stiles calls him baby and the other two couples are looking at him expectantly, so he prepares himself and sticks his feet in the boiling germ cauldron. Stiles immediately latches himself to Derek's arm, resting his head on Derek's shoulder and closing his eyes.

"You two look very sweet together," says a brunette wearing a pink and white striped bikini, holding the hand of the blonde from earlier. The other couple is a young Indian man and a white guy with red hair.

Derek doesn't know what to say to that. Thankfully Stiles, the humble conversationalist that he is, says, "I completely agree." His voice sounds so dreamy even Derek almost buys it. Then he takes his head off Derek's shoulder and surveys their surroundings. "Thanks for being so calm today," he says to the blonde woman.

She smiles shyly. "Oh, I didn't do - you were the one who saved that man," she says.

"I brought Evelyn down here to calm her down," the brunette says. "She gets high strung easily."

"I do  _not,"_  Evelyn says, eyebrows wrinkling together. The brunette, who Stiles names Sadie because she looks like a Sadie, rubs Evelyn's hand affectionately, which seems to calm her down significantly. Evelyn gestures to Sadie. "This is Gwen." Stiles internally curses. He'd felt so close.

"I'm Fred," says the guy with red hair. His arm splashes out of the water and he puts it around his boyfriend's shoulder. "This is Mar," he introduces.

Stiles figures it's their turn, and since Derek doesn't have a fantastic way with words, he says, "I'm Stiles and this is Derek. If he's nervous, it's either because he's just naturally broody, or a little nervous. We're not exactly public yet." The lie rolls so easily off his tongue, Derek wonders what happened to the disaster he'd met two years ago. Gwen nods understandingly.

Fred nods as well, then starts some speech about how he and Mar had been in the closet for two consecutive years before coming out in a tragically beautiful reveal at a Christmas party, while Mar looks like he wants to slap the sugar off of Fred's words and put them on french toast.

 

~~~

 

Derek's phone rings on their way back up to the room to change. He waits until they make it to the room to answer it. "Scott?" he asks, in lieu of greeting. He can hear Stiles sigh dramatically at his ever-present bluntness. 

"Hey, Derek," Scott says. "Just checking in. Any progress?" In the background there are sounds of others. Derek guesses he's on speaker phone.

"Nothing yet," Derek says. "Unless you mean having less of an urge to inflict pain upon Stiles."

"You do?" comes Scott's voice. Derek is confused for a second.

"What?" Derek asks.

"You have less of an urge to inflict pain upon Stiles?"

"I never said that," Derek denies.

"Yes, you did. You literally just said it. Just now."

"Why did you call, Scott?" Derek asks, rubbing his hand on his face in exasperation.

"Like I said, just checking in. Let us know if anything develops. Stiles is bound to get a breakthrough soon," Scott says, but there's been a sickly sweet addition to his voice. Derek tries not to think about it after he hangs up.

 

~~~

 

The dinner hall, it turns out, is much more social than described on the web page. Circular tables have ten seats apiece, and most of them are taken. Stiles and Derek manage to find two empty seats. Fred and Mar are at the table as well, which Stiles is sort of annoyed by. Something about Fred rubs him the wrong way. Stiles ignores it, though, as he spends most of dinner rubbing Derek the right way.

He successfully manages to charm seven out of eight other people at the table. One older woman appears to be less than thrilled by Stiles's remarkable tolerance for PDA. Even Derek finds himself pushing Stiles away at some points so he can just finish his goddamn chicken. Oh, and because they aren't actually dating. That too.

But Stiles ends up talking very animatedly to the rest of the table, recounting an extremely embellished story (meaning it's entirely fiction) about an adventure he and Derek apparently had at a movie theater that had both run out of butter for their popcorn, and been employing a woman who could not take the hint of Stiles draped all over Derek, and had continuously flirted with him. Stiles has the entire table (apart from stick-in-the-ass) bursting out with fits of laughter. He feels like they're the obnoxious cool table in the cafeteria, which is extremely satisfying, because he's always wondered what sitting at that table feels like. 

Stick-in-the-ass makes a few incredibly not subtle comments about her disapproving of their physicality, and not being surprised that Stiles was hanging off of Derek, and each remark was punctuated by a slap on the arm from her younger, black girlfriend.

By the time dinner is over, Stiles can tell that Derek has had his limit of social interaction for the day, so he says that he's tired and lets Derek cling to that life preserver. They excuse themselves and retire to their room, and promising to join them all again for breakfast the next morning.

Stiles drops hands in the elevator, and it takes Derek by surprise. He'd been expecting something along the lines of what-if-someone-else-gets-on or what-if-there-are-security-cameras or what-if-the-monster-is-invisible-in-this-elevator-with-us-hold-my-goddamn-hand-idiot. They don't meet anyone, however, and as soon as they make it back to the room, Derek cracks open the wine.

Stiles lays back on the bed, feeling hopeless, because none of these pillows even slightly resemble his own. They aren't firm enough, or soft enough, or big enough, or small enough, and there are probably six thousand of them on the bed, and Stiles can't drown in  _his_  pillow. He lets out a noise of frustration, feeling as though he can open up at least a little to Derek, that something of that wall between them has ebbed away. "There's no way I'm going to be able to sleep tonight," he says miserably. Derek approaches and hands him a glass of wine. Stiles would take the time to appreciate feeling proper, but instead he just downs it, then hands the glass back to Derek, who says nothing.

Stiles flops back, then decides that, no, he can't sit on the bed, and goes to sit on the floor against the wall. Their room has wooden walls that make Stiles feel warm. The bed has a blue blanket on it, covered by six thousand pillows (none of which feel right), and a white carpet spread out by the door. There's a dresser on the end of the room away from Stiles with a bowl of half-melted ice to keep the wine cold. Derek is busying himself doing something with that.

"You know, my grandmother  _mailed me_  that pillow," Stiles says. "In the mail. Then we sent her to an old person's home. But, so help me God, there has not been one night since where I have not slept on that pillow."

Derek turns around, walks two steps, and hands Stiles another glass of wine. Second verse, same as the first. Stiles should feel embarrassed that he'll be drunk in a matter of minutes. Derek doesn't seem to care. In fact, he's providing a minor with alcohol, and Stiles totally has the power to get him arrested. He doesn't plan on it, but he could.

"Maybe if I get really really really drunk, I can just pass out," Stiles continues. "But it just wouldn't  _feel_  right, you know? Like, I would wake up in the morning, and just thinking about it makes me nauseous. Not to mention, the floor would really kill my back. Am I really so unappealing that you'd rather risk a night on this uneven disaster than share a bed with me?" Oh god, he's at the part of getting drunk where he starts blurting.

"You shouldn't drink when you're already emotional, Stiles," Derek chides, handing him another glass. Stiles notices that Derek has barely even touched his first.

"Then you shouldn't-" Stiles gulps it down and lets out a loud sigh, tasting the remnants of the wine in the air around him. Derek is probably drowning in the scent. "-give it to me," he finishes, then holds onto the glass when Derek reaches out for it. "You go ahead," he says, feeling considerably loose. "I've had enough already. Don't want to ruin our lovely first impression with a hangover or anything stupid like that tomorrow. I would try to go to bed, but  _OH WAIT_." Stiles seems more frustrated with himself than anything else.

"You immediately went to save that guy today." Derek brings up the subject now because he knows he can with a minimal chance of Stiles making a sarcastic remark at him. 

"And you did the real work, as always, taking his pain away," Stiles says, looking at the empty glass mournfully, suddenly wishing he hadn't stopped Derek from taking it and refilling it with liquid painkiller. He doesn't know why tonight hurts - it usually doesn't when he's drunk. "I feel lonely," he realizes, and says it out loud before he can stop it. It's too late to take it back, so Stiles doesn't care. He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

"Who saves the hero when he cannot save himself?" Derek quotes, putting the cork back in the wine bottle and setting it in the ice. He nurses his own glass for a few seconds.

"Did you just call me a hero?" Stiles asks, raising his eyebrows, but with eyes still closed.

"I guess I did."

A pause.

"Don't."

"Come to bed, Stiles," Derek says, draining his glass in one long gulp and then setting it firmly back on the dresser.

"I won't be able to. You just go. I don't have to ruin your night, too. I'll sit here quietly all night. Just look at the moon. The moon's so pretty. It must not be all that terrible to be a werewolf. But how does the moon control it? That's what I've always won-"

"Just try, okay?" Derek says, and Stiles doesn't know if he should mistake that snarky tone for concern. Derek could just be aggravated by Stiles talking. It wouldn't be the first time.

"It's no use," Stiles says. He feels Derek take the empty glass out of his hand, and the contact Derek's thumb makes with Stiles's palm is shocking enough that Stiles's snaps his gaze down to look at his hand, even long after Derek's back is turned.

"Stiles. Come to bed." It's an order.

"You're not the boss of me," Stiles mutters, just to make sure Derek knows. But it sounds like a pretty good idea, so Stiles rolls his eyes, and follows it anyway. He trudges up, onto the left side of the bed, and lays down. His head feels like it's going to explode. "Relax."

Stiles feels a hand under his head, then on his shoulder, pulling him toward the other side of the bed. He's very confused, and opens his eyes to see Derek's chin. "What-?"

"We're gay," Derek says. "It could come in at night. Now shut up and-"

"Oh my  _Goooood,_  you're voice is so rumbly," Stiles breathes out, like he's found paradise. There's a lazy smile on his face, and Derek actually looks down to see it. Stiles might have said something else, but he knows that it's damn near impossible to get Derek Hale to open up, and he isn't going to make a big thing of it. "Please, just talk. Just say anything."

"I don't know what to say."

"Talk about things you like," Stiles says, then nestles into Derek's chest.

Derek hesitates for a moment, during which Stiles kicks his leg out to "encourage" Derek, and then Derek starts talking about how he likes reading, and how he likes the way moonlight scatters through the big window in his loft, and he likes to wake up late and stay in bed, and Stiles honest to God  _wants_  to listen, but Derek's voice is the absolute perfect no-pillow cure, especially when listened to through the chest.

Stiles is out in minutes.

  
~~~

 

He wakes up with his face incredibly smushed against something very large and much harder than his pillow, which really confuses Stiles for a moment. Then he realizes that he's  __sleeping on Derek Hale's_   _chest_ _  and,  oh yeah, _it was with permission_.

"Stiles."

And, fuck, Derek is awake, so Stiles can't pretend to go back to sleep and just enjoy being very warm and sort of feeling loved, because he's never woken up like this before, but it's kind of super awesome, and he might have found his new favorite pillow.

"Derek," Stiles attempts to mimic, but his voice is still wavery from sleep, so it definitely does not have the same effect.

Derek doesn't say anything, but he rolls Stiles off of him, which is definitely an improvement from his implied homicidal inclinations yesterday. Something feels to have settled between them, and if Stiles isn't mistaken, they might be kind of friends now, but Stiles doesn't know what changed between then and now. He can't ask Derek, so he settles for asking what time breakfast is.

"We can go down whenever you want," says Derek, and holy shit, his voice is still really rumbly.

"Dibs on bathroom first then," Stiles says, attempting to roll out of bed, but somehow he ends up with the breath knocked out of him and his face on the carpet. He may have overestimated the distance he had to get up.

"You're an idiot," Derek mumbles, and it sounds like he's closed his eyes again.

"An idiot who is totally ready for another day of being gay!" Stiles shouts, standing up triumphantly. "I think some of your handy dandy supernatural ability transferred to me through contact last night. Hey, speaking of, why didn't you just shove me off this morning?" Stiles asks, as nonchalantly as he can manage while he grabs his bag. He really should've just unpacked, but he's lazy, and they might have to leave in a hurry if they end up killing staff or something. It should scare him how easily he thinks about these things.

"Because when you're sleeping is the only time you can be  __mostly_   _shut up," Derek answers. "But I'm very flattered that I can replace your oh-so-special pillow. You were out in ten minutes, Stiles. You made a big deal out of nothing."

"But it's  __not_   _ nothing. Usually I can't even think about sleep without my pillow. You  _ _should_  _be flattered. And you served very adequately," Stiles says through the open bathroom door as he starts brushing his teeth. "Okay, so, if things go well today, we should be getting attacked by tomorrow. You ready to go back out there again?"

Stiles knows that social interaction is hard for Derek, especially with so many people for so long, and he gets it. As much as he may pester Derek, he really wants to make sure the guy is okay.

Derek gives an optimistic grunt, and Stiles accepts it. He shuts the door to get changed, and emerges wearing purple plaid over a black t shirt with red jeans. "I'm in a purple mood," he comments upon entering the room.

Derek is pulling his jeans up over his ass.

Stiles tries not to notice. He tries not to notice how good that ass looks. He tries not to notice that Derek. Wears underwear. For guys with huge dicks. Stiles tries not to salivate as Derek finishes buckling his belt and turns around, unaware of how suddenly beautiful he seems.

"What?"

Stiles is unable to control his staring for another half second before he snaps out of it, and says very quickly, "Nothinglet'sgo."

He knows that this is the beginning of his ruination.

 

~~~

 

Stiles is definitely not as animated that morning, and is certainly more distant. He barely spares a finger for Derek, and blames it on being tired, but Derek knows it's a lie because Stiles drooled on him soundly almost all night. He takes it upon himself - he is Stiles's concerned boyfriend after all - to put an arm around Stiles, lean in close to his ear, and quietly ask if he's okay. Stiles's heart rate is like a hummingbird's, and his skin is heating like Derek is sitting next to an oven.

"Fine," he says, but Derek knows he's not. He drops it for the time being anyways, and instead takes Stiles's hand and holds it on the table, rubbing his thumb gently over the skin there.

 

~~~

 

This is the worst possible time for Stiles to realize he has romantic feelings for Derek Hale. Mostly because he has to spend the whole morning practically sitting in Derek's lap. A reporter is staying at the resort, and since he's there, he wants the full scoop from the hero of the hour.

Derek has both arms wrapped around Stiles, and Stiles has one leg resting over Derek's lap, because after all, the reporter could be their guy.

The interview proves to be entirely uneventful, and the reporter leaves Derek and Stiles alone on the couch in the lobby. Stiles finds this the perfect time to chicken out on Derek.

Only Gwen shows up, smiling brightly. She explains that she, Evelyn, and a bunch of other people they've met at the resort are having a get together, and that Stiles and Derek should definitely join them. How can they refuse without rousing suspicion, when after all, it could be Gwen? Stiles and Derek hold hands, Derek trailing behind as Stiles follows Gwen.

But the lap-sharing doesn't stop there.

Apparently this "get together," formed by twenty-something twenty-somethings, revolves around playing __Embarrassing Story or Sexual Act_  _or _Liplock with a Stranger_.

Every guy in the room is staring at Derek, and Stiles  _wishes_  Derek wasn't so out of his league so he can  _really_  be entitled to slap them all. But he can still pretend, so he stands on his toes and presses his face into Derek's neck, and paws at Derek's waist. Derek probably thinks he's so clingy.

Gwen pulls them over to  _Embarrassing Story or Sexual Act_  and pushes them onto the group of people. There are seven, not including Stiles and Derek; four guys they don't know, and Gwen, Evelyn, and Stick-up-the-ass's partner. Gwen kicks it off, and she turns immediately to Stiles, who found it much easier to be in love with Derek before he was in love with Derek.

"Truth or dare?" she asks.

Stiles has never been a chicken, and prides himself on the fact that he's never once chosen truth in his life. Picking dare is the easiest thing he's done all day.

"Well," says Gwen, biting her bottom lip, "I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks you and Derek are great together. But... I haven't seem much more than some championship hand holding. Give us a kiss."

Stiles gapes, tries to chuckle, ends up awkwardly huffing out a few wheezes. "But, that's... that's kind of a lame one, isn't it?"

"We're just getting warmed up," she says, waves a hand sweetly and smiles like she's trying to hide the trouble she's causing. "And I can dare what I want." Her smile turns expectant, and Stiles knows they have no choice - they can't compromise the mission.

Stiles gives a noncommittal shrug and twists his body around so he can face Derek. Nothing about the kiss is glorious. Stiles's hands are shaking on Derek's hips, because he knows he's broken the only rule, and Derek is going to despise him for the literal eternity.

Derek kisses back, probably because he knows he has to, and it's a fair attempt at passionate. He even covers Stiles's shaking hands with his own, probably so the others won't see the trembling. Stiles is too ashamed to enjoy anything about it.

Stiles pulls back and gasps for air, eyes still closed. People in the circle are cheering, so it must have looked less terrible than Stiles thought. He doesn't look at Derek, just asks him, "Truth or  _dare_?"

Derek raises an eyebrow at all of Stiles's mixed signals, but nods anyway and lets out a soft, "Dare."

"Come into the bathroom with me," Stiles says, and the people around them immediately burst into loud cheers. Stiles stands up, and Derek follows.

"Oi! Should we go on without you?" teases a Scottish accent from behind them. Stiles withholds a cringe, knowing that if he concentrates on anything other than the bathroom, he'll break down.

The door closes behind Derek, who, miraculously, doesn't seem to be seething with rage. Stiles covers his face with his hands and lets out a shuddering gasp. " _Fuck_ ," he hisses. "I'm so sorry, Derek. Shit. I had to. That was so,  _so_ ,  _way_  out of line. Fuck."

Derek doesn't say anything, and Stiles finds that almost worse than anything he could have said.

"If you're going to kill me, don't tell me. I won't be able to take the anxiety," Stiles says, still not looking. The tiling on the bathroom floor is very nicely done, he notices.

"I'm not going to kill you," Derek says. Stiles lets out a breath he's been holding.

"Thank you. Now go ahead. My guard's down."

"I'm really not going to kill you, Stiles."

Stiles peaks up at Derek, looking through his eyelashes. "Really?"

"Really."

"But you  _are_  mad at me."

"No."

"But you said-"

"That was before I respected you."

Stiles narrows his eyes, shame momentarily forgotten. "You didn't at least respect me? Then when did you start?" He tries to keep the biting tone out of his voice. He fights back tears and bile.

"I never respected you to the point where my annoyance with you didn't overwhelm it," Derek corrects, crossing his arms. "And, yesterday."

Stiles, feeling dumbfounded, almost lets out a laugh. "What happened yesterday? I dragged you around and was hanging all over you! You hated it!" Stiles reasons.

"I did hate being around so many people. But being in your company made it slightly more bearable. I didn't hate you. It was when you saved that man. You kept undercover. And when you were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk." Derek stares at Stiles, eyebrows disbelieving. Stiles caves, tries to further the conversation they were having before so he doesn't have to think about how pathetic he is compared to Derek. "So?"

"You were talking in your sleep last night," Derek continues, "and you were having a nightmare. You were in the bank vault with Erica, and you were shouting, 'Take me! Take me!'"

Stiles shrugs and looks down. "Yeah, I get nightmares sometimes now. So?" He plays it off like he's never dreamed of Scott ripping him apart alongside his already-present dreams of his dead mother and angry father.

"So, you were twitching and shouting all over me, and I never pushed you off," Derek says.

"Congratulations," Stiles deadpans. He looks at the wall, away from Derek, jaw locked.

"And you've been off today."

"Well, yeah, I watched Erica die last night." Derek rolls his eyes, but he gives Stiles a small amount of credit for coming up with a somewhat plausible lie so quickly. But Derek's seen him do it before.

"No," Derek says simply. Stiles sighs in defeat.

"We've gotta pull the plug, Der," Stiles says, before he can stop the nickname from slipping out. Stiles cringes, and tries to mentally prepare for his own funeral, which is surely very soon.

Derek looks confused. "Why?" he asks. Stiles is surprised Derek doesn't drop everything and go with it, not bothering to hide his relief at the situation. 

"God, you are going to hate me," Stiles says. "I haven't been pretending as well today because it wouldn't be pretending anymore." He turns away and bends over the small counter, but due to the mirror, he can't escape Derek unless he stares down at the porcelain sink. Which he does.

Derek says nothing for a minute, and Stiles is glad he's over the sink because he feels like he may throw up. Confessions of love are definitely glorified on television.

Finally, Derek, as is his M.O., responds with a single syllable. "Me?"

And that's sort of the last reaction Stiles is expecting, so he stares at Derek through the mirror in shock. "Did you really just ask me how I find you attractive? Did you not physically  _feel_  every guy in that room eye- _groping_  you?"

"They don't know me," Derek says.

"And I do? You never talk to me unless you're threatening to cause me bodily harm! You didn't even respect me until fucking  _yesterday_! So I don't know why I chose you, Derek, but I did! And maybe it's just a phase, but maybe it's not, and I can't fucking help it. God, I'm  _sorry_." Stiles doesn't want to admit how many times his voice cracks from holding back tears.

"I let you sleep on my chest," Derek says, still as quiet as ever.

Stiles doesn't say anything, just lets out a low-pitched whine of distress.

"Stiles. I let you. Sleep. On me."

"I heard you the first time."

"Do you think I would have let Scott or Isaac sleep on me? Or Allison or Lydia?"

Stiles looks at Derek in the mirror again, then turns around. For the first time in his life, he can't think of a single thing to say. Derek takes a step closer, and Stiles yearns to reach out for him, but he doesn't know if Derek is saying what Stiles thinks he's saying yet.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks, taking another hesitant step. Stiles huffs out a shaky breath and chances a smile.

"Yeah," he says breathlessly, leaning back against the sink.

"We can do the kissing thing, if we have to," Derek concedes. 

"We have to," Stiles says immediately. Derek actually chuckles, and Stiles says, "Just to clarify - you are, in fact, confirming that there could possibly be a something between us? If so, don't say anything."

The silence that follows is the best silence Stiles has ever heard.

 

~~~

 

They leave the party under the excuse that it's just not their thing, then go down to the pool. Stiles counts his luck that two days in a row, he has seen Derek in a bathing suit. He's not sure he'll ever see it again.

Everything seems to go back to normal - or, the normal of yesterday. Stiles and Derek do the kissing thing. Derek even grabs Stiles off his pool chair and throws him into the pool once, much the amusement of all their new friends. These people are certainly a lot nicer than the people Derek usually associates with. Stiles catches Derek smiling to himself once or twice.

Dinner goes much like it did the previous night, only Stiles and Derek sit at a different table. That night, there is still no evidence to something supernatural - Derek insists that he hasn't smelled anything, and that obviously he is not just preoccupied with Stiles and distracted by everything happening.

Stiles is standing in front of a collapsible bulletin board he brought (don't even ask how much it cost or where he found it), and Derek is lying on the bed. He's cracked open the wine again, and both he and Stiles have a single glass resting idly near them, mostly forgotten. 

"You know, data would be a lot easier to organize if we _had_ any," Stiles says. Derek rolls his eyes.

"'It's not just my job. Have  _you_  seen anything suspicious?" Derek asks.

"Not anything other than the fact that nobody's been attacked since we got here - excluding Mr. Lukan," Stiles says. He caps the marker in his hand and sets it on the table, in favor of wine. The taste is still pungent on his tongue, and he can definitely say he prefers whiskey - or even just plain beer. But mostly the taste of Derek's tongue and ohgodheneedstostophavingthesethoughtsrightnow.

He sets down the glass and clears his throat, glances over to Derek, who has his eyes closed on the bed. "Are you really sleeping right now?"

"Aren't you the one who seems so sure that I get exhausted from social interaction? Get that tone out of your voice," Derek commands. 

Stiles raises his eyebrows. " _Get that tone out of your voice,_ " he mimics quietly as he turns back to the board.

"I heard that."

"Of course you did."

"There's nothing, Stiles. Come to bed," Derek says. It genuinely sounds like they're in a relationship. Stiles rolls his eyes.

"I'll be up in a minute, dear," he teases. There's a moment of silence afterwards where Stiles stares at evidence, and Derek, as far as he can tell, doesn't move. And then-

"Stiles?"

"Hmm."

"Come to bed."

Stiles rolls his eyes, puts down the marker, downs his wine, and crawls into bed. Derek accepts him gladly, pulling Stiles's head onto his chest and then surrounding them in blanket-y warmth. He actually wraps his arms around Stiles's waist, and Stiles is so intoxicated by the heat that he falls asleep almost instantly. But then something happens that sends a jolt of energy through him.

Derek kisses him.

It's just the top of his head, and nothing to get worked up over, but Stiles can't help it. He looks up at Derek, then gets up on one elbow until he's leaning over Derek. Derek's eyes are open and staring, tracing Stiles's movements as though attempting to memorize every second of this moment.

"That wasn't, like, platonic, was it?" Stiles asks, in case he's misreading the whole situation. Otherwise, what he's about to do will be very, very,  _very_  mortifying.

Derek's eyes move down to Stiles's lips, and they don't come back up. "Kiss me," he says. Stiles would have seen Derek's eyes flash blue with desire if he hadn't been so focused on watching the order come out of Derek's lips.

So Stiles kisses him, and it's their first honest-to-God-real-kiss. The warmth of the blankets is nothing compared to the warmth that spreads throughout Stiles from every point of contact between Derek and him. He holds in a moan until he's breathless, but once it's out, the dam floods. Stiles has always been a very vocal everything, and this includes lover. Once tongue is introduced, everything turns much more passionate, and Stiles was totally right about Derek being his favorite flavor. He kisses Derek until his shoulders ache from holding himself up, and then Derek flips them over and takes charge.

Derek changes his desire to Stiles's neck, running his lips and tongue and - Dear God -  _teeth_  over every spot of skin he can find. He trails his lips all over Stiles's jaw, and Stiles revels in being reveled. He feels like a thing of worship under Derek's gaze, under his hands, under his tongue.

"You totally planned this," Stiles says. Derek hums a throaty laugh and moves down to Stiles's shoulder. Stiles suddenly realizes that he doesn't know when he lost his shirt, but he's so glad it's gone and hopes it never comes back. "I'm serious. You knew I wouldn't be able to -  _ah_  - resist this."

Derek looks back up at Stiles, and the sight of Derek Hale (also shirtless) working all over his body makes him breathless. "How do you know  _you_  were the one who couldn't resist?" Derek asks. Stiles gasps as Derek's mouth meets his nipple, which is a very good excuse, because he probably would have gasped anyway.

"Then I guess we're in the same boat," Stiles says. "And the 'a something' between us has turned into something very 'something'ish, and I for one think-" Stiles pauses, feels Derek's hot breath on his stomach and his incredibly hard dick "-yes. Yes I definitely think we should pursue this 'something.'"

Derek huffs out a laugh, and his lips are so close that Stiles actually  _feels_  the smile.

 

~~~

 

Stiles wakes up to the best feeling he's had ever in his whole life. Derek's arms are wrapped around him and he's so warm that he's literally just bursting with all the warmth, and it feels so good to feel Derek breathing, and, oh yeah, they totally had sex last night. That memory alone gives Stiles enough power to cure cancer or fight an entire army off. He is no longer a virgin, and  _Derek Hale_  is the reason. By  _mutual fucking interest_. (No pun intended.) _  
_

But Stiles is so full of energy that he can't just not move, so Derek is awake within fifteen seconds, and he's in a good mood even if he won't admit it. Stiles admits it. Stiles is fucking  _elated_  and he wants to go downstairs and tell the whole resort. Derek tells him that he absolutely will not, pulls him back into bed and starts kissing him until he's dizzy, and Stiles knows this is going to be hard. (Pun intended.)

Then there's a knock on the door, and Stiles has a full second long overwhelming desire to commit homicide, so Derek is the one to answer it. It's Gwen, and she looks absolutely delighted.

"I just knew you two were perfect together," she says, and Derek would have been extremely embarrassed and asked her what she was talking about, if she hadn't at that moment walked in and hit him over the head with something circular and metal sounding. Stiles doesn't have time to react before she's on him, and then he feels like darkness took a shit in his head.

When he wakes up his head is throbbing, and he's very tied up in a very not sexy way. Derek is calling out for him, but it feels like his brain has literally been turned into drool, so the most intelligent response he can come up with is, "Buuuuuuuuuurhuug."

"Isn't he just charming?" comes a sweet female voice in Stiles's ear. It's Gwen, and Stiles is about to ask her what the hell she's doing when he realizes that he's an idiot, and that she's obviously the supernatural thing they've been hunting.

"What are you?" Derek asks her. He's obviously beating himself up for not detecting anything off about her.

"I go by many names, Wolf. None of which are relevant to you," she says, running her cold fingers along the back of Stiles's neck. He would snap at her if it didn't take all of his focus to keep his eyes open for a few seconds. "But, ohhhhh, as soon as you boys came to this resort, I knew there was something special between you. Not quite brought out yet, but that didn't mask the scent, sweetheart. It made all the other ones seem like flimsy friendship!" She lets out a sweet laugh, and Stiles tries to lift his head again. Cold hands push it back down.

"Why are you... you... at...king these...." is the best attempt Stiles can give.

"Use your words, dear," Gwen says, pulling his head up harshly, the pain forcing Stiles's eyes open. He's tied to a chair, and Derek is at the other end of the room, chained to the dresser.

The second attempt is much clearer, due to the temporary adrenaline running through him. "Why are you attacking these - these people?" Stiles asks.

"Love is power," Gwen says simply, then she drops Stiles's head again. It sends a jolt of pain through him, lighting up his eyelids like electricity. After that, he forces himself to keep his eyes open as long as he can.

"And why not just use regular relationships?" Derek asks.

"Gay love has more power," she answers. "Secrecy and doubt and sometimes even  _shame_  - they all mesh up into the big cauldron like elegant spices. Far more delicious than any heterosexual couple. And personal preference. But you two... Your scent was...  _overwhelming_. I just had to get you together. There's a word. It's coming off my ton-  _oh... Oh_! Soul mates. Or as close as you can get. If I take you two... well, I'll be just about immortal!"

Gwen seems delighted at this, and she gets in front of Stiles. The feeling is completely different from seeing Derek like that last night. Now he's sort of filled with terror.

"What happens?!" Derek asks suddenly, thrashing against his chains. Stiles suspects he's trying to buy more time. That's the downfall of the clever villains, really. They always want everyone to know how smart they are. "When you 'take' us? What happens?"

Gwen smiles. "I'm glad you asked, my darling," she says. "It all disappears. Everything. Every last feeling for each other. And then I look _younger,_ I live _longer,_ and everything works out. I'll bet you not one of the people I took has even bothered to call their significant other since." Stiles tries not to panic as she speaks. "D'you know what they all said yesterday? When you went off to the bathroom? They said, 'wow, doesn't take much to get that one going,'" Gwen sneers. "And then you came out, and everything was different. The scent was clearer. And then this morning - well, I smelled it all the way from my room downstairs, and I knew I just had to come and get you."

Gwen leans down in front of Stiles again. "And now I'll have you. Look at me," she says simply. Derek tries to speak again, but she ignores him. Stiles can't discern the words, because just by maintaining eye contact with Gwen, his throat feels tight, and he can't look away.  _You're going to feel a puddle_ , she says, and it echoes around in his head thousands of times. Something inside of him is swirling, and it's as if he's in a trance. He pictures it as more of a big pool inside of him than a puddle, being churned up, and Gwen sticking a big straw in it. 

And then she's not, and Stiles is very confused, because it wasn't all bad. But then Derek is in front of him, and yesyesyes it was very, very bad. "Are you okay? Stiles!" Derek is shouting, and it echoes around in Stiles's head, and the pool is still swirling, but it's settling, or maybe that's just him wanting to throw up.

He's not in a chair anymore. He's sitting on Derek's lap, and Derek has his arms around him, and Stiles feels totally out of it. He wants to tell Derek not to worry, but then someone's coming in the room. Stiles sees his dad, and then something in him clicks when he's being lifted up by several hands.

"I'll call you, Derek," Stiles promises in a slur that he can't believe actually makes it out of his mouth.

"No. No, you won't," Derek says, somewhere on Stiles's right. Or maybe his left. He's definitely somewhere in the room, though. "You won't call me because I'm gonna be right there next to you the whole time, okay?"

Stiles tries to respond, but the only word that makes it out of his mouth is, "...Cold."

 

~~~

 

The next time he wakes up is much clearer. There's a second of ringing all throughout his head, and some very bright lights, but then he recognizes the hospital room. Derek is in front of him before he can take a deep breath in, smoothing back Stiles's hair and hanging over him with a type of concern Stiles has never seen on Derek before. And it's for _Stiles._

"Stiles?"

"Hell of a first date," Stiles muses, because he's Stiles and he has to make a joke for Derek to ignore.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks urgently. Stiles's heart hammers at the intimate action as the memories return to him. His breathing falters for a moment when he realizes that  _they're allowed to do this kind of thing now_. Stiles can reach out and hold Derek's hand whenever he damn well pleases. Assuming Derek is still up for it.

Stiles ignores it and looks around. "Did they get Gwen?" he asks, suddenly thrashing and looking around, as if worried that she's been standing there the whole time. He calms down when he feels Derek take his hand.

"No," Derek says, and Stiles panics for a split second until he continues, "I did. Before the police showed up. And then I told them she took us hostage and that I did what I had to do. Are you okay?"

"What about the pack? And Danny?" Stiles fires out.

"The pack is worried, but fine. Danny is out of the hospital and fine. Are  _you_  fine, Stiles?" Derek asks. Stiles feels like Derek is probably slightly annoyed that he hasn't answered yet, but he can't scrounge up the focus to concentrate on that. He needs his millions of other questions answered first.

Stiles looks at Derek, as if seeing him for the first time. "Are you okay, Derek?" he asks. "How did you get out of the chains? And did Gwen - did she - how are you - I mean, like, are we still-"

"Stiles," Derek says firmly, forcing him to shut up. "Gwen's dead. I'm fine.  _We_  - the two of us together - are fine.  _Are. You. Okay._ "

But the door opens at that moment, and Scott walks in, worry etched over his face like someone has drawn it there with a pencil. Stiles suddenly feels very guilty for being as weak and human as he is. "Stiles!" Scott exclaims, relief flooding over the worry. He rushes to Stiles's bed, and like an avalanche, the rest of the pack topples in after him.

"Stiles!" come several shouts at once, and Stiles winces. He feels Derek's hand tighten on his instinctively, and it feels pretty freaking awesome to have all of that protectiveness geared toward him. This must be when Isaac notices Derek's hand, because he suddenly looks very intrigued. Allison catches his line of sight, and turns "nonchalantly" as she pretends not to notice. Lydia notices almost instantly afterwards. Scott, ever the oblivious, looks only at Stiles.

"You had us worried, sick, man," he says. "How are you?"

"Scott," coughs Isaac, in an attempt at discreet. Scott seems startled that Isaac exists in the same room as his hospitalized best friend, but that's just Scott. He looks back at Isaac, who gestures with his eyes to Derek and Stiles's entwined hands. Derek isn't an idiot. He sees that they've noticed. But still, he doesn't pull away, and yup, Stiles could definitely stand up and walk out of that room. He's feeling pretty good.

Scott's eyes follow Isaac's stare, then widen. "Oh!" he says, then apparently tries to pretend he hasn't noticed. "Uh, Stiles, you, uh, had us all really worried there." Stiles appreciates his attempts to play it off. "We should - um - go. Not that you and Derek need to be alone - not that you-you shouldn't be alone, but-"

"Scott," Lydia cuts off harshly. "Do you have a dollar? I want something from the vending machines. Come with me, I need to find something with a lot of calories. I'm starving."

"You know, I'll come too," Allison says, and the three of them start walking to the door. Stiles can hear Scott thank Lydia.

Derek raises his eyebrows at Isaac. "You're not joining them?" he asks skeptically.

Isaac looks at Derek curiously. There's a teasing aspect of his glare. "Me? Nah, I'm good here. It's kind of cold out there, you know. Plus, I'm going to owe Scott thirty bucks."

This time Derek lowers his eyebrows, but he doesn't say anything. Stiles guesses that he's going to be talking for him a lot, and he can't start any sooner than now. "Okay, I'll bite. Thirty bucks?"

"Yeah," Isaac says. "You see, he won the pool. Lydia owes him twenty five and Allison owes him _forty._ "

"Pool?" Stiles asks.

"Well, yeah," Isaac says, feigning obliviousness. "To see how long it would take you two to get together. Allison said Christmas. She was going to rig the loft with mistletoe. I said Valentine's Day. Lydia said when Stiles went off to college because - her words - 'Derek is a broody idiot who can't tell the difference between his emotions and a child's finger painting.'"

Stiles snorts. "And what did Scott say?" he asks.

"That one of you would get injured and the other one would freak out," Isaac says. "But, you know, I actually should go back to them. It's no fun being a third wheel. You'd know, wouldn't you, Stiles?" He actually  _winks_ before he walks out, and Stiles wonders if it's possible for him to ever be half as cool as Isaac. Seriously, that was smooth.

Derek rolls his eyes and turns back to Stiles. "Ignoring all of that - answer me now."

"Yes, I will marry you," Stiles says. It's a wonder how he manages to keep a straight face. He doesn't when he sees Derek roll his eyes. "What was your question again?" he asks, even though he remembers it just fine. He just wants Derek to ask him again.

Derek tilts his mouth up in semblance of a teasing smirk. "Never mind. You're fine."


End file.
